


Riddles of the Heart

by fol-de-rol (Palelyloitering), Palelyloitering



Category: DCU, Gotham (TV)
Genre: Go easy on me plz, I love nygmobblepot, I'm Sorry, It's also kinda shitty, M/M, My First Work in This Fandom, Nygmobblepot, This is kinda a whole mixture of emotions and all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-23
Updated: 2016-11-23
Packaged: 2018-09-01 19:39:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8635537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Palelyloitering/pseuds/fol-de-rol, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Palelyloitering/pseuds/Palelyloitering
Summary: Welcome to whoever reads this!I do hope you'll enjoy reading my very first Gotham fanfiction about my otp Nygmobblepot!As we all usually do, I also make mistakes both grammatical and contextual at times, please excuse them.See you on the other side.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to whoever reads this!  
> I do hope you'll enjoy reading my very first Gotham fanfiction about my otp Nygmobblepot!  
> As we all usually do, I also make mistakes both grammatical and contextual at times, please excuse them.  
> See you on the other side.

Another stormy evening. Another night without Ed. And yet another day spent restlessly attempting to find the murderer of his sudden love, who — in the meantime — sat beside the warmth of crackling fire, with a fine whiskey in his glass, somewhat glad he hadn't been found so far.  
He didn't feel guilty, not one bit. A slight hint of regret, perhaps, but on his own behalf. By eliminating the wedge which so foolishly and cheekily pressured herself between them, he managed to create a greater, far more dangerous one, and just as fatal.  
Oswald thought of the outcome once Ed had found Butch — which was inevitable, considering he was the most intelligent man in the entire city and nobody could ever outplay him. It was undeniably a fear which had long ago instilled itself deep within the mayor's soul, yet the thought of Edward handing him the fatal blow and ending his life, was not a thought he disliked. Too many people wanted his death already, he'd rather he had the luxury of receiving it from the only person he loved.  
However, that person did not know about these feelings, and most likely never would. Even if Oswald were to tell, it would be a hard pill to swallow for Ed, who rarely ever felt proper feelings aside from amusement when outsmarting someone, and resentment when one did not agree with him, or thought him a fool. Everything else skipped his heart within a beat and left behind a void; emptiness and confusion.  
The mayor of Gotham clearly sensed that upon visiting the morgue with his chief of staff, who then simply fell into his arms without words, tears, or even a shaky breath. Even the sight of fleeting mortality couldn't crush Edward's spirit; instead, it ignited a fuel of rage.

With a sigh, Oswald downed his poison and placed the glass upon the coffee table before rising from his seat to limp over to his brand new painting which still hadn't been hung — he was yet to decide where to place such a masterpiece; his favourite one by far.  
After a few long moments of just staring at the figure in the back, Oswald smiled faintly. He wished Ed knew his intentions were not to hurt him, but to keep him sheltered. Not that he could understand, he hardly understood love, and didn't suspect a conspiracy behind the sudden appearance of a doppelgänger. If anything, Oswald expected him to figure things out on his own — he was the avid intellectual and master of minds after all. But no, the only thing he did was foolishly fall into the embrace of such a clear malice. It was a harrowing experience for the mayor, to see his most favourite colleague and person turn completely jaded to a thing so threatening.  
All the while these thoughts swirled and twisted, a battle formed in his mind — what if he had not killed Isabella? Perhaps she wasn't a villain after all, and the only person she was threatening towards, only by existing, was Oswald himself.  
This confusion was painful. Instead of letting Edward either be happy with Isabella or get hurt (with none to blame other than himself and his silly blind adoration), Oswald allowed the weakness of jealousy to seep into his soul, resulting in _him_ hurting Ed, which was a thought more painful than any other. But he couldn't just sit idly by, and watch it happen. God, he was a fool. Or at the very least felt like one.  
He hadn't even realised the single tear rolling off his cheek until it reached his pointy chin, where he immediately wiped it away. No, crying wasn't an option. Too often did he let himself go and wear his heart on his sleeve. It was a weakness, which almost got him killed several times. But it was mighty hard for him not to get emotional and act on his feelings — it was how he had been raised, how he felt normal. One can hardly be blamed for allowing themselves to feel. Despite all that, there was one thing he couldn't do, not even when being entirely himself.  
How he wished...  
Unconsciously, he touched his fingers against the portrait, and gently brought them upon Ed's face. That sharp, elegant cheekbone, his slender neck and his dapper outfit... Everything he wanted, instilled in that small section of the canvas. Forever.

Suddenly Oswald was thrusted back into reality as Ed appeared out of seemingly nowhere with a slightly bruised Butch at his heel. He kicked the man and threw him in the middle of the room, startling the mayor.  
"You dare tell me lies and think you could die without facing the consequences for it? Fool," the riddle-lover spat with fury as he finally regarded a bewildered look towards Oswald. "Tell him what you told me, you dense idiot. _Tell him!_ "  
Oswald couldn't help but slightly cringe at the change of character in Ed — he was malicious and no longer bound by manners or decency; he had become entirely himself. Unfolded and unhinged, he was someone new. Someone Oswald did not know.  
"You're in love with this psychopath!" Butch exclaimed to the mayor's surprise. "Look at the pair of you — a perfect match. It won't take long until you destroy each other, and my crew can be in control once again."  
" _Shut up!_ " Oswald swung his cane and hit the burly man on the floor right between his eyes, forcing a painful groan out of him as he fell on his back. Butch laughed and rasped:  
"Wait until your prince charming finds out what happened. _What_ you are," he let out a manic chuckle. "He will kill you for sure!"  
"Not if I already know."

Silence.  
Oswald slowly tilted his head up to meet his companion's eyes. They were cold and empty, just like the time when he... No, that's not possible. He would have killed him already, had he known for so long. If not for the murder, then his feelings.  
"Ed?" The mayor said shakily as he was slowly crowded by his chief of staff, who didn't hesitate to step forward, closer to him than ever before. It terrified Oswald, and made him angry at the same time, because this moment — however it might have turned out — was supposed to be a private, intimate one. Yet it had to be done in this setting, with that pig of a traitor beneath their feet.  
"I know," he replied in a soft, but emotionless tone. "You killed Isabella. What I don't understand is..." He slowly inched closer to Oswald, who instinctively backed up, until his back hit the wall, and he gasped. "Why?"  
"Do you really not see?" Oswald mustered the courage to snap back. "You're the smartest individual I've ever met; nothing gets past you. Yet you're telling me that simple human emotions go unnoticed by that superiorly intellectual mind? You and I have been at each other's side for so long, still you're as blind as an _infant_!"  
Ed's hands swiftly grabbed his throat and squeezed, preventing the air from entering his lungs. It was a foreign, but not unpleasant feeling washing over him as his breaths became shallow. Oswald only began to panic when those long, elegant fingers that used to take care of him and comfort him started tightening against his fragile and pale skin, draining the already hollow colour out of him, making him feel fainter by the second. He didn't struggle, instead just gently placed his hands on Edward's wrists and rubbed them soothingly.  
"You have ruined my only chance at love. I never thought you'd be so selfish when it comes to me. I was supposed to be your partner. In everything. And you just went and ruined it all, for what? Personal vendetta against Butch, because you knew I'd be going after him first to get my revenge? Nobody ever double crosses me, Mayor Cobblepot. I know everyone's darkest secrets and deepest desires — _yours_ especially."  
Oswald tried to speak, but the lack of oxygen prevented him from doing so. Instead, he nodded his head as much as he could in the grasp of such strong hands. Of course, none could ever have tricked the master of tricks. Nor was that his intention to begin with.  
He lifted his right hand, and cupped Ed's cheek. That utterly perfect skin on his fingers made him feel complete, even though he most likely was about to die.  
Ed furrowed his brows in confusion, yet he didn't move. His expression softened, and — much to Oswald's surprise — his fingers let up, and began to rub the bruised skin. The mayor noticed his friend returning into his body once again — he was no longer thirsty for blood, at least not his.  
"Ed..." He began, but couldn't finish. The taller man leaned down and pressed his forehead against Oswald's, silencing him.  
"I'm sorry." The Riddler muttered as his hands slid around Penguin's waist and held him close. "I wasn't thinking straight. I shouldn't have doubted your good judgement."  
"I only wanted to protect you. I would never hurt you, Ed. You know that." Oswald said and took his companion's face between his hands, his thumbs gently stroking his cheeks. Static filled the air between them as they drew closer to each other. First, their noses touched, then they tilted their heads and closed their eyes, consumed by the moment.

Both men jumped as they heard a loud noise, then the slamming of a door. Ed looked over his shoulder to see a puddle of blood on the hardwood floor, and no sign of Butch. He rolled his eyes and sighed sharply, irritated by that ape's very existence.  
"Now that we're alone," he smirked. "Shall we?"  
Oswald was taken aback when Ed leaned down and pressed their lips together in a heated kiss that's been long overdue. A few silent moments passed with them just becoming one, small sighs escaping their lips as they tilted their heads in synchronicity.  
Once Ed broke the kiss, Oswald was reluctant to let go of him, so they just stood there in each others' arms for a while, before Oswald finally let go of Ed.  
"I don't know how you do it," the taller man said in a weak tone (almost ashamed), as he turned his back to Oswald, who — in utter confusion of the sudden change in emotions — instinctively placed a hand on his companion's shoulder for comfort.  
"Do what?" He asked carefully, unsure as to what he should expect in Ed's answer.  
"You...your..." The riddle master sighed deeply and slowly shook his head — for once, the slightly disabled kingpin of the underworld had rendered him mute; unable to form proper sentences and explanations, which both calmed him and made him tense at the very same time. He wasn't used to the loss of words — words were his toys, puzzle pieces to twist and bend to his free will and demolish all defences of the minds inferior to his. Yet here he stood, silent as a grave, but at piece, as he knew such a weakness reared its head in the vicinity of someone of the utmost respect and loyalty towards him. Penguin wouldn't use his momentary lapse in intellect against him, would he?  
" _Ed_. Are you alright?" Oswald inquired, clearly worried for the mental wellbeing of his dearest friend.  
After a few seconds of silence and regaining of composure, Edward replied:  
"Yes, yes. Quite," as he turned back to face Penguin, taking the hand which rubbed his back all this time, and brought it to his lips to plant a soft kiss upon it. Oswald — despite his best efforts not to, — blushed. He cleared his throat in embarrassment — he was king of the bloody underworld, and he stood there with another man far more intimidating than himself, and he fluttered his eyelashes at him like a girlscout. God, he wished himself buried six feet under. What must Ed think of him now, seeing him so flustered and clumsy with controlling his emotions?  
"I was going to ask..." Edward held Oswald's hand still, channelling his warmth and calming the nerves of the smaller man. "How you were able to do what nobody else ever could?"  
Penguin furrowed his brows in confusion. He hadn't done much recently, not for Edward, as he had done a great job isolating himself from his partner in profession (and life).  
"You managed to cage the beast. Tame it, even. Without words. Only pure emotions." His words were raw and real, nothing to hide.  
"How does that work?" Edward asked, truly curious, like a child who had just had his first conversation about how to put a name to certain feelings that dwelled inside.

Silence once more.  
Oswald was unsure how to respond, when he himself didn't know the right answer to such a question, if there was one at all. He moved his free hand on top of Ed's and smiled faintly. It wasn't a happy smile. Neither of them were joyous, nor would they ever be in their entire lives — criminals of their extent could never be anywhere near happy, and most would say they had that coming.  
But they were entirely okay with that. At least Oswald was. He knew more than most how to make the best of even the worst situation. It had become a virtue, really, and it came in rather handy throughout his tumultuous life.  
Although he felt himself able to handle most obstacles and surprises along the way, it all came down to this particular day; this moment, which was utterly perfect. Everything clicked into place with the man stood in front of him — it was his greatest wish, yet, standing right there, dumbfounded, he couldn't help but fear how this would turn out in the long run. Nobody would accept them, despite Gotham being Gotham, as in: "If you're not in our way, you do whatever you please, I don't give a damn. But if you cross me, you'll watch everything you love expire right before your eyes, and then you will also be handed a painful death." Oswald wasn't ready to lose what he had struggled so much to gain.  
"Oswald—" The gentle voice lulled him out of his worries, back into reality. "You're unwell," he observed and let go of Penguin's hands, and instead placed them on his pale, cool cheeks. "Ah, god, why didn't you say something? I could've put you to bed earlier, without asking stupid, meaningless questions."

Edward took the smaller man into his arms and guided him into the bedroom, where he gently sat his now shivering friend on the edge before hurrying off into the kitchen, nearly slipping on the relatively fresh blood left behind by Butch and letting out an almost inaudible curse, which brought a faint smile upon Penguin's face.

Oswald failed to comprehend what had come over him so suddenly, but whatever it was, it did its job swiftly and surely. He had been poisoned once before, and the feeling was quite similar to that of this new mystery sickness that slowly began to consume him from inside and out — mostly inside, though. He could no longer control his darkest thoughts breaking to surface and flooding his mind, sensations of death and misery were tormenting him; from the outside, though, he only resembled someone with high fever.

A few moments later, after all sorts of noises coming from the kitchen, Edward returned with a mug of hot tea and a wet cloth to place on Oswald's forehead once he had laid him down.  
"You haven't been sick today. What could've gotten into you so fast?" The riddle lover was trying his hardest to veil his worry, but with each passing second of Penguin getting worse, panic slowly instilled in him.  
Just then, it all fell into place, and Edward understood.  
"Oswald, look at me," he urged his friend to meet his eyes by tilting his chin upward. "Please, try to focus on me. Look into my eyes." Despite the temptation to just doze off and perhaps die, Oswald complied. "Now breathe. Slow, and deep," he continued, his voice quiet and caring. "Follow my lead," he added, as he demonstrated the correct speed and way to take breaths.

For a couple of excruciatingly long moments, the two were quiet, only their sighs of exhales could be heard. At first, Penguin could hardly slow down to the pace Edward advised him to, but soon enough he succeeded, and in doing so, found himself no longer in a confinement of dread within his own body. The sweating stopped, and he felt exhausted, but fine at least.  
"That's it." Edward finally broke the silence, and smiled. Not like he always did — victorious in some way, spiting everyone else with a mere expression of his face, — no. It seemed as if he tried to express a genuine inner satisfaction and relief, which was unlike him, but Oswald didn't mind. In fact, he found himself falling even more for the enigmatic gentleman, if such a thing was possible.  
"You're not a doctor," the smaller man said with a shallow sigh. "How did you know what to do? Or if it would even work?"  
This time, Edward's smile turned into an all-knowing smirk.  
"I've had such episodes in my younger years. It took me months and months of terror and feeling like dying, until I finally found a way to soothe, or entirely make these things go away, when they so decided to knock on my hollow image of a body. And then, after a certain amount of time and martial changes in my personality and view of life — they disappeared on their own. Nevertheless, I've learned the remedy, and studied this vicious condition when I thought of saving the world instead of dooming it with my unsolvable riddles and traps and mischief." The taller man let out a chuckle, and it made Oswald smile. So selfish, vindictive and impulsive a man Edward was, yet his affection towards him never ceased. (And did he really just say he once wanted to salvage Gotham and not burn it to the ground?)  
"Anyways, these episodes are called panic attacks, and they are extremely common. Especially among paranoid and damaged people such as ourselves," he explained, then tracked off. "Good thing I'm your chief of staff, right?"  
Oswald squeezed Edward's hand and his expression turned serious.  
"You're far more than that, and you know it," he stated.  
"Friend?" Edward asked.  
"More," came the reply.  
"Partner?" The genius teased. "In crime?"  
"In life, you sodding idiot." Penguin chuckled faintly and shook his head in disbelief. He'd never thought people like them could still have humour and fun from time to time.  
"Obviously," replied the riddle lover, and leaned down to kiss Oswald's forehead. "Quick question. Riddle me this." Penguin rolled his eyes at the word "riddle".  
"Ed..."  
"What is yours, yet you cannot hold it? Unless, of course, I die for some unfortunate reason, then do please take it as a keepsake. Maybe display it somewhere...?"  
Oswald sighed sharply and thought about it for a few seconds, then mentally slapped himself for taking so long to answer. It was easy. And utterly clever.  
"Your heart."  
"Ding dong. You've got it, Mr. Penguin." Edward's smile grew and he placed a small kiss on his recently recovered companion's lips. "And there's your reward. Also, does Mr. Mayor mind if I spend the night in his bed? Not naked, of course. God forbid."  
They both laughed and Oswald nodded.  
"Sure you can, Ed. Come whenever you want. I'm off to sleep now. I'm extremely worn out," he grimaced as he turned to his side and closed his eyes after having tucked the giant pillow comfortably under his head.  
Edward took off his vest and his belt, undid a few of the buttons on his white shirt and lied down next to Oswald, carefully spooning him. The smaller man didn't even tense up at the unexpected physical contact, he rather relaxed his muscles, and his soul slipped into a peaceful zone of comfort.  
"Goodnight, Ed," he murmured.  
"Goodnight, Oswald."  
It didn't even take a quarter of an hour for Penguin to fall into a deep slumber, however, Edward was still awake. He found it hard to rest his mind, or body for that matter. He was created only to function, on and on, to never stop thinking, doing...  
Perhaps he could try and make an exception for someone he...  
Edward pulled Penguin close, and placed his chin in the crook of the smaller man's neck.  
"I may just love you, Mr. Penguin," he whispered, planted a kiss behind Oswald's ear, and closed his eyes, trying to join his partner in his dreams.

**Author's Note:**

> If you feel like it, please leave a comment expressing your opinion, I'm always interested in others' input.  
> Have a nice day and I trust I'll see you again soon, when I post something else!  
> X


End file.
